


A Murder of Crows - a lone Hawk

by Nessavanator



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Drinking, F/M, Innuendo, Jealousy, implied innuendo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-04-18 16:34:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4712825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nessavanator/pseuds/Nessavanator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post murder of crows, some character and relationship development, and some dirty minds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Lone Hawke

Hawke nearly startled as Zevran pressed his back to hers while they fought the Antivan Crows intent on both their deaths.

Her skill was being tested, and she had faltered a few steps in miscalculations resulting in minor flesh wounds. She was used to rusty former soldiers, and mages with their vision clouded by anarchy. It was more then helpful to have the former assassins assistance in the endeavor. Her eye caught him flitting about like a spirit appearing from shadows and chaos, leaving death in his wake.

No wonder the crows were so angered by his defection. They had lost a good agent, and his example could not be followed. Despite the continued assaults on him only adding to his acclaim.

Her ears perked at his laughter as an adversary faltered under his attack. He was enjoying the activity. The deaths of those who had once again tried to capture him, and harm anyone in their path in the process was amusing, not serious and daunting as she focused her thinking. His exuberance was contagious and soon Hawke found herself adding more flair, and jesting with the Antivan as they moved fluid around one another as though they had fought together for years.

He complimented her form, and she did the same to a lesser degree of innuendo. He still managed to find a darker compliment therein somehow. The later which had her laughing out loud while holding the minor flesh wound in her side.

The charming elf had his arm around her shoulders as they walked back to regroup with the others. Merrill had a smile on her face, always enjoying the laughter of others, especially her friend Hawke. 

Varric was happily looting the bodies and pocketing the trinkets the assassins carried from international places. Whistling a tune he had developed for battle, it was sinister but also fitting. She found herself even humming it on occasion.

Zevran left his arm in place as they proceeded down the path back to the main encampment, Merill offering a compliment to the handsome elfs battle form.

The words had the group snorting with laughter, their minds beyond any degree of polite conversation.

They didn’t see the darkening cloud as Fenris approached, his bloody sword still gripped tightly in hand at the sight of the cozy rogues. They looked perfect together, and the assassin was more then comfortable in his easy affections for her. Likely anyone Fenris was quite sure.

The mans flattery was something expected from what he knew of the Antivan culture. They loved freely, and in great quantity. But he would be damned if his Hawke would be another on the rogues checklist of bedded women.

It seems the discussion moved to the wound that Hawke clutched without a care, the blood seeping beneath her fingers. The Antivan looked concerned, and pulled a potion from his pack. Hawke removed her armor easily, lifting the thin shirt she wore beneath with no qualms as Zevran eyed the smooth tone of her stomach, and the smattering of scars along her soft skin.

He was smiling, until his eyes narrowed at the nasty scar left from the Arishok.

“Yeah, right through,” he heard Hawke laugh, but he knew how the memory still haunted her. Zevrans fingers trailed along her abdomen as he looked from the front to the back of the mark by her strongest enemy defeated.

“You are an incredible fighter to be able to continue to defeat the beast with such a grievous wound,” he crouched before her, and Fenris gripped his hands into tight fists as the man applied the odd liquid to the ceaseless bleeding from the small wound. It took almost immediate effect. “A crows blade don’t always need to land a killing blow, to kill an opponent. A dirty thing in my opinion that many assassins use for their business. Any way to get the job done. It’s a practice without pride in my opinion.”

“Like you would speak much to pride,” Fenris muttered, and the rogues ears twitched causing Zevran to turn to the brooding elf. Holding the gaze of the white haired companion a moment, green eyes held the Antivan’s, the gaze burned with the fury of a mad Qunari.

Zevran just gave a coy smile, as his hand remained on the uninjured side of Hawke’s bare hip, cupping the curve slightly. “Here, you are healed. Allow me to clean the wound.” He looked back to Fenris, “it is of no bother to me.”

Fenris had no claim to Hawke, despite the feelings in his heart, he had left her long ago. To his knowledge there had been no other since him, but he couldn’t even allow his thoughts to turn to that direction. The anger at himself, at the unfortunate individual that would get Hawke’s affections, he could scarcely contain. Wouldn’t be able to contain.

He watched aghast as a blush spread to her cheeks, and a smile to her lips at the gentle remedy the suave elf offered her.

He even assisted her back into her armor, hands touching, smoothing, caressing at every turn. Hawke was positively glowing when he finished, and had no problem when the arm was draped back over her shoulder as they discussed future drinks at the Hanged Man that evening. Walking to the main path back to Kirkwall.

The last straw was Zevran’s proposition later that evening. Fenris had consoled his anger at the unconcealed flirtation with heavy drinking of the ale that he was sure the ingredients were a mixture of dog piss and fermented potatoes. 

Isabela had been beside herself with the arrival of the Antivan who gave the curvy pirate attention now and then, but his focused seemed only to be on Hawke. Isabela was doing her best not to look disappointed as she flaunted every asset, and gave every line and view to entice the charming rogue but he never wavered.

Hawke was not used to being the focus of male attention but seemed to awkwardly enjoy it, the more she and the former Crow drank, the more she responded in kind to his innuendo. She was the queen of wit, and she had met her match in this fellow rogue.

Fenris had drank deeply of the 5th or 8th tankard of ale, he wasn’t sure. He staggered when he walked, and felt it safer to sit at the table in the corner the companions usually held, as he watched with a disapproving eye as Zevran and Hawke attempted a game of darts. Neither one missing the target despite their drinks, but neither doing very well either.

“Well I win, you know what that means,” Zevran declared, making Fenris eyes widen and head jerk up from where he had lulled in his dark thoughts but a moment before.

With great flare the Antivan dipped Hawke, and with what Fenris was sure was a smirk in his direction, kissed Hawke passionately. His hands roaming within the bare levels of decency… at least for a place like the hanged man.

Hawke however, was not completely under the mans spell, and pushed him away jokingly when she landed back on unsteady feet. “Hey, I’m pretty sure you cheated, I had 2 drinks during the game, by your coin, while I saw you sip only one!” Her face was red and she almost seemed to shy at the whooping that came to the attention of the other patrons.

Zevran shrugged, but smiled not denying the allegation either. “What can I say? I felt like I wanted to get to know the real Hawke.” He crooned, and followed her where she sought comfort at the table with the rest of her friends. A couple hands of diamondback were being played half heartedly, as they enjoyed the camaraderie that flowed. It was a dark time and moments like this would be absorbed, and warmed the soul.

Merill was focusing hard on the cards, while Varric shook his head at the petite elf mage. “Come on Daisy, its the same hand you’ve held for the past 5 turns, nothing has changed.”

Isabela leaned over, plucked a card from Merrill’s hand, drew one from the deck, and then pressed the elf’s wrist to the table to reveal the winning hand. “Look kitten, you won a hand!” Isabela’s gaze turned to the dwarf who was about to protest. “That was why you had been so adamant about maintaining your hand, you were a winner just racking up the merchants coin until it was worth the quick death.”

Merrill’s eyes widened in surprise and pleasure, “I won? I mean, of course I did.” She gave a sweet smile to the pirate, “thank you,” she whispered, but no one was fooled. However no one spoke out either.

“How did you suggest to get to know the real Hawke with your tongue down her throat?” Fenris slurred, tossing back the last of the tankard in his mouth. He wasn’t sure if the drink was what tasted like bile, or the line he may have crossed in his consumption that night.

“I meant that in her relaxation from the drink, she would let down her Champion guard and reveal the beautiful soul of the woman beneath.” He paused, cocking his head, ”I’m rather enjoying getting to know her,” he turned his head from Fenris, back to Hawke.

Hawke held her mug with both hands, a shy smile on her lips, her eyes staring intently at the liquid.

“There are other ways we might be able to get to know one another, as well,” he continued, reaching across the table, and tucking back a strong of her blonde hair.

Hawke actually leaned away, a coy smile on her lips. Zevran’s eyebrows raised in surprise at the tease, and Fenris all but leapt from his chair.

“That depends,” drawled Fenris, having had it sitting back where he had. “How much do you wish to test that luck of yours?”

Zevran glanced between the two confused. “Oh… my mistake.” He said smoothly, holding his hands up in the air, “the impression I had was that you were not taken, my dear. My apologies, Fenris, you should have mentioned this earlier.”

Hawke swiveled her head to Fenris who clenched his jaw, staring into the empty mug, gripping it so tightly it cracked it protest. “Yes, this is new to me,” she said with an annoyed tone that made Fenris wish he could rip the Antivan’s heart out and neatly end this situation that he was thrust into.

Isabela was pulling at Zevran, whispering things in his ear that had him chuckling at. “Oh… well I see.” His eyes filled with merriment, then smoldering when he regarded Hawke. “You know what room I am staying in… the more the merrier.” He winked, and a blush immediately painted her cheeks, and her eyes widened at the prospect that was offered to her.

Isabela made no attempt to hide her intentions with the rogue, pulling at his clothes as they walked to the steps leading to the rooms.

Fenris waited a breath before he made to move, but Hawke stopped him with only her words.

“So Fenris… anything you want to say to me?” she asked, not mocking him, but also trying to hide the hopeful edge to her voice.

Varric shuffled cards, Anders silently fumed while awaiting the deal, and Merill made no ruse of staring at the drama before her.

Aveline was the only one that cleared her throat and helped Hawke to her feet when Fenris said nothing, only standing silently, his back to her. “Come on, I have something I need to discuss with you,” she said, glaring daggers at cowardly elf that hid his eyes beneath a fringe of white hair.

Hawke was half carried from her chair by the strong guard captain, trying to hide her disappointment with jest, but the waver in her tone gave her away.

Aveline guided the inebriated champion to another corner of the bar, and spoke earnestly from the expression Fenris could make out as he made his way to the bathroom in time to release the contents of the last few drinks from his stomach. 

He heaved until nothing was left, then drank a healing potion for good measure. The effects of the swill they served for ale immediately drifting from his system. Not completely, but enough so that he could think clearly, and walk without running into people and furniture.

When he returned, Aveline was tossing coin into the pot, and Hawke was no where to be seen.

“Where’s-“ Fenris began, and Aveline shot him a frosty glare.

“None of your damn business,” she said tightly, staring pointedly at the cards.

“Maybe Fenris wants to join them,” Merill offered sweetly, not knowing what she had said Fenris was sure.

He was off like at shot at Merill’s words, leaping up the steps, and knocking past a regular that bit his tongue when he saw who it was that so rudely shoved him.

It didn’t take long to figure out which room was the soon to be dead former Crow. He was about to rip the door of his hinges when noises not meant for his ears escaped the wooden frame, and he faltered.

Was it truly his right to deny Hawke some enjoyment? He had no claims, no rights to do what he was currently doing as he stared intently at the wood grain, smudged and stained with years of use.

He sighed, and defeated entered Varric’s room where he knew the dwarf kept the good whiskey.

There sitting before the fire, legs propped up between her chair, and another, was Hawke. Staring into the fire with a sorrowful expression. A large glass filled with amber liquid in her hand.


	2. A Friend In Need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A friend in need gives a helping hand. All forms of innuendo applied. Fenris and Hawke's continued awkward stumble to reconciliation with missteps along the way.

Her blonde hair shone like gold in the gentle firelight. Her blue eyes trained on the hypnotic flicker of the flames. The casual pose suggested ease, but the expression on her face was anything but. The champion was fighting tears, made all the more harder by the drinks she had consumed. They seemed to be adding to and not soothing the tumultuous emotions that flowed through her.

“You’re… here,” a hesitant deep voice, the very cause of the grip of sorrow in her heart, interrupted her introverted revere.

Hawke couldn’t look at him, not now, not after what he said, raising her hopes only to dash them once more. She was angry, but more over she was hurt. The crash of pain, regret and disappointment of the reopened wound, she was awash once more in the grief of her broken heart.

“Where else would I be?” She drawled, downing a good gulp of the strong liquid, and then squeezing her eyes shut as the rush of heat flared her nostrils, and nearly made her gag. 

Fenris approached in his confusion, when every instinct told him to leave, his body disobeyed as he lingered. He didn’t want to leave her. He wanted to say everything within him, and that frightened him more then what her reaction might be. He had nearly ruined their friendship before, the only friend he had ever had, he couldn’t risk doing that again.

“I thought you might have taken the assassin up on his offer,” he tried for an aloof tone, but it came out awkward, and hesitant.

Hawke finally looked away from the fire, staring at the elf a moment that he felt utterly naked before her. She knew, she had to know, otherwise why did she gaze so intently?

“Who is to say I’m not joining them?” she answered sharply, and the sting made the elfs eyes narrow, then stare at well toned calves as she re-crossed her legs. Distracting him from his retort.

“They’ve started without you,” he finally said, and walked to the cabinet where the large bottle of Darktown whiskey was stored. Whether he wanted the drink now or not, it was a distraction from the woman that tied his insides knots.

A heavy sigh filled the room, “oh… whatever,” she responded gruffly, no effort even to continue the banter with him. 

Fenris should have just left the room, should have just left the bar entirely. He had all but ruined his evening, why continue it? Why prolong the lonely walk home to an empty house?

“I doubt you would want to be in the middle of that anyway,” he said quietly, offering some odd measure of comfort he hoped. Her eyebrow raised, but the brief flicker of amusement was worth the effort. He remained, leaning against the vacated chair as Hawke now leaned forward, the drink precariously perched between her knees as she held her head in her hands.

Likely it was the strong alcohol making her response fuzzy as Hawke just chuckled dryly, “its been long enough maybe I ought to go for quantity over quality.” She murmured, then her eyes widened and her face flushed deeply. “I mean… I’ve… I’ve had lots since you!” She cried out, sloshing her drink in her startle.

Fenris hid his smile, as he casually sat, sipping the merciless liquid. “Oh? You’ve been far busier then I realized then.” He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling as she floundered.

Hawke sighed, “Andrastes ass,” she muttered, covering her eyes, “not… lots… not… oh makers breath… who even cares? I’ve been as chaste as a chantry sister,” she grumbled, and threw back a generous gulp of the contents in her glass, immediate regret as she coughed and sputtered. “I’ve been too bloody busy with everyone else’s problems to even have any time to take care of anything but my immediate needs.”

Fenris openly chuckled now as Hawke just stared dumbfounded at the fire, “I… I’m not talking anymore.” She murmured mortified.

“So… these immediate needs,” he said teasingly, and she ducked her head as though she avoid the jest. “The Champion of Kirkwall. A wanton, lust filled woman, with a self imposed chastity belt?

She looked everywhere but at him, “oh come off it, we all have needs,” she mumbled, tucking her legs beneath her squeamishly.

Fenris was enjoying this, on a few levels. Dangerous as it was to toy with this, knowing the dark places, and the memories that had plagued him for years. Her touch a memory he cherished over all others. “Oh don’t I know it,” he laughed.

Suddenly she turned a heated gaze to him, that he nearly gulped when intercepting. “We could help each other,” she said in a voice low, husky. A hint of desperation on the edge of it that had his pulse soaring.

His tongue would not respond, he couldn’t answer her as she caught him in the spell of her dark blue gaze. “It doesn’t have to mean anything… it doesn’t have to go anywhere. No strings need be attached.” She said near breathless as she stood, the glass dropping to the stained rug as she approached him, only a very slight wobble to her walk.

Fenris stared, his desire overwhelming him his rationale wavered from the evenings activities. From the years he had ached for her, for this moment. She slowly reached down, and removed her boots. He could say nothing but grip the arms of the chair, the sight of her bare feet nearly his undoing. But when she sat astride him, only slight hesitation in her movement, all reason was lost.

Her weight was not light, but not heavy. She was solid, strong, and a fighter. The muscular thighs hugged his, and he fought the urge to cup the full bottom that sat on his knees. She leaned forward, waiting for him to reject her, or to meet her intentions with his own. To accept the offer. They could do this, they could alleviate the needs in each other, the craving for one another, without going too far into it. 

He needn’t tell her he and Isabela nearly came to this point as well. That the very fact the curvy pirate was not the one who currently was before him made him not able to… rise to the occasion.

She bit her lip, a look of regret flashing in her eyes, she was thinking he didn’t want her. She was about to remove herself from him, he felt the gentle shift in her legs. But then, she felt him, hardened and pressed to her, he groaned slightly in her movement, his hand immediately cupping the bottom he had stared at on many journeys.

That simple touch, it broke him and any reservations he held.

His mouth was roughly on her, pulling her to him, gripping her without a thought to the gauntlets and armor he still wore. She returned with equal enthusiasm. Their mouths and tongues at war with one another over the years of ache and need exploding in this moment.

She had undone his chest plate, and just as quickly his gauntlets followed. Her nimble fingers making quick work of the leggings. Her mouth never leaving his, nor the attention that it required. Maker she was too good at this, she knew him too well.

He fumbled with the ties of her leather armor, lifting her he carried her to Varric’s lavish bed. They were scarcely disrobed when he took her. Furiously fast at first, making her cry out before he remembered who he was with, what it meant to him. He couldn’t treat her like a common whore, where he would expel himself, and be done with it.

He needed more from her. The connection she always gave him. He caught her gaze as he slowed, the look of wonder, of acceptance… of love. It tore at him, but he smothered the ache in her. In ravishing her mouth, in touching her where he had not forgotten she enjoyed. Careening her over the edge again and again, until the pulse of her orgasms were too much to bear and he joined her in a growl of her name on his lips.

Possessively holding her to him as they basked in the afterglow before the realization of what they had done made itself aware.

“Do you think Fenris really joined them?” whispered Merrill excitedly, after the situation was more thoroughly explained to her. Being in on the gossip made her giddy, despite its topic and the companions that were involved.

Varric chuckled, tossing a card, and picking up another, “I doubt it, Daisy.” He sighed, glancing for a waitress. “I do think I’ll be needing a change of sheets from Norah no doubt though. I’m going to need to tip her big for this one.”

Aveline gritted her teeth, but said nothing. Her dark stare subject to the cards before her, despite its winning hand.

Anders had a similar countenance, but had long since stopped caring of the cards in his hands, to Merrill’s delight.


End file.
